


Elevation

by druggied



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drugs, F/M, Fluff, Marijuana, Smoking, basically you get high with america, general silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 03:15:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5359079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/druggied/pseuds/druggied
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The warmth caught in your throat, sputtering back out in short, forceful coughs. Alfred just laughed and pressed his lips to your temple.</p><p>"That'll go away in time."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Elevation

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry. Who is my demographic with this? What is wrong with me?

Of course the United States of America himself would smoke weed. You were actually a little surprised that you hadn't known that already, what with how long the two of you had been friends. But there he was, sprawled back on your couch (taking up the whole damn thing, as always), a glass pipe in his hand. It was already packed— _when had he done that?_ —and he fidgeted with the lighter in his other hand.   
  
"You wanna smoke this with me?"  
  
You quirked an eyebrow. "Since when do you smoke?"  
  
"C'mon babe. Does it matter?"  
  
You laughed, because he always seemed to get flirty when he wanted something from you. What kind of game was he playing? "I guess it doesn't," you shrugged, glancing at the pipe. It was fucking red white and blue. That only made you want to laugh more.  
  
He accepted your answer as a yes, and relocated himself a bit so there was room for you on the couch. That in mind, he patted the surface next to him. You sat down without complaint and, when he offered you the lighter and paraphernalia, you took both of them gingerly. Okay, so you were totally doing this, for real. You pressed the glass to your lips with the finger on the little hole at the side of the bowl (the carb?) and, with your other hand, sparked the lighter. Your breath pulled in the resulting smoke. America—or Alfred, as you had come to call him—was watching you with the concentration of a surgeon. There was something utterly _sexy_ about watching you smoke, and he dragged his fingers through his hair with a low huff. The warmth caught in your throat, sputtering back out in short, forceful coughs. Alfred just laughed and pressed his lips to your temple.

"That'll go away in time."  
  
You blushed under the kiss, shoulders still shaking with remnants of the coughing fit. You quickly returned the bowl and lighter into his hands. He chuckled. The hit that Alfred took of the smoke went much smoother than yours had. You could see him fill his lungs, and he flicked his gaze to yours briefly, catching that awed look on your face. The country let the smoke spill from his lips before smirking. "Like what you see?"  
  
A pillow was promptly thrown at his face, earning you a hearty laugh in response. "Watch it, my dude, if you waste the weed, you die."   
  
"Yeah yeah," you muttered with a playful roll of your eyes. You grabbed the devices from him again and took another drag. It went better than the last time. The smoke swirled up around your cheeks sleepily, curling in the air before fading and dissipating. It was only interrupted by a small cough, one you were quick to recover from. Alfred ruffled your hair and grinned. "You'll start feeling it soon. It acts pretty fast."  
  


❈❈❈❈❈ 

  
He wasn't wrong. After a few more minutes of passing the bowl between the both of you, the contents of it were turned to ash and you could feel everything in your body vibrating at frequencies you didn't know existed. "Oh, Alfie," you chirped, using the nickname you had used to tease him when you first met. "I'm elevated. Like, high, I mean." He laughed. You curled your toes, uncurled them, and curled them again, reveling in the strange feeling that had encompassed your body. Alfred just set the pipe and lighter next to each other on the coffee table.  
  
He stretched, his shirt trailing up his stomach, and you eyed the flesh with a small smirk. "I could eat you for breakfast, Alfie. I'd like to."  
  
"Hah." His hand was in your hair again, tousling it.   
  
"I mean it."  
  
"I know that," he said, tugging you by the shoulder until you were pressed against him. Your head spun pleasantly, even rested against his chest. "Sometime you can. I'd let you," he murmured into your hair. "But not now. I think I just want to look at you." Something about those words were groundbreakingly funny to you in the moment, and your shoulders bounced with laughter.  
  
America watched you in amazement. His lips were parted, the sound of your giggling setting butterflies free in his stomach. Your loveliness was unmatched, he decided. He kept to his word, looking at you, just like he said he had wanted to do. When your laughter died down, you caught his gaze. In your current state, you could hardly stand it. Your hands covered your face.   
  
"Don't look at me like that, it's embarrassing," you whined. Alfred laughed.  
  
"Sorry, you're just awfully cute, you know?"  
  
"I know." You smirked. He seemed so surprised by your answer.  
  
You peeked at him from between your fingers before tackling him, pushing him onto his back with you on his chest. "I want to take a nap, and in the morning, I'm having you for breakfast." Alfred's blush was hot on his cheeks.   
  
"We'll see," he said, with you already nestled up under his chin comfortably.   
  
It wasn't like he could resist you, anyhow.  
  
 


End file.
